Of Missiles and Phonecalls
by chrnoskitty
Summary: Feliks always wanted attention, just not this kind of attention. America/Poland/Russia. One-Shot. Based off of recent scrapped plans to launch missiles in Poland.


**Of Missiles and Phone Calls**

Pairing: Implied America/Poland/Russia threesome/ Implied Russia/America

Rating: PG-13

Historical Accuracy: Low. Based off of recent scrapped plans to launch missiles in Poland.

Will I like it?: Poland gets used as a tool for Russia and America's relationship...

Warnings: Feliks has a dirty mouth. Someone get this nation a bar of soap!

Feliks liked attention. He really did. Stealing cars, crossdressing, and acting like a total and complete fag, they were all just his ways of asking for that attention. Especially since his commonwealth had been broken, and Lithuania taken away from him.

So, of course, he was tickled as pink as his favourite cardigan sweater, when the two super-bastards of the world decided to pay him a visit.

That feeling didn't last long.

"We're planning to test some missiles in your country. I hope you don't mind. We'll pay you, of course. Compensation, I think, is the word my boss used."

That was America's proposal.

His boss had said yes. A reluctant one, but it meant that Feliks couldn't renege on the deal. He couldn't tell America that he didn't give a damn what he wanted to, there was _no way_ that he was going to set off some missiles in his land.

He still remembered Hiroshima, dammit! But, instead, he simply smiled, his trademark, 'I'm Poland and I'll make it through anything you throw at me' smile, replying with, "Like, send the money and you can like, totally, go on with that plan." He of course, didn't resist the urge to flip off the retreating nations' back, saying cheerily what the other no doubt thought was Polish for 'Good bye, have a safe trip', but, in reality, was a litany of curses.

Delivered with a smile.

And then, barely twenty-four hours, Russia showed up. "I hear America was over here yesterday." He cut to the chase without any need for preamble, pushing past the Pole in the doorway, and inviting himself in.

_Yeah, and you like, might have heard rumours that his dick's bigger than yours, too,_ Feliks thought bitterly, closing the door behind the Russian, who was now finding himself comfortable on the couch. _And they're totally true, asshat._

"We're going to set off missiles here, too."

"What the fuck?" Feliks couldn't contain the curse. "You like, can't waltz in here, and say that you're going to blow the shit out of my home, and like, expect me to take it!"

Ivan stands, reminding Feliks of that playground bully mentality. 'I'm bigger, so I can do anything I want'.

"I don't expect retaliation."

"And I expected to get my friend back, when you were done being an asshole."

"You did, did you not?"

But that's not what Feliks meant, and the glint in those unnatural purple eyes of Ivan tell him that Ivan knows, _too_. It takes everything Feliks has, not to grab that porcelain desk lamp and smash it into that mocking face, right then and there.

But he doesn't. And as Russia repeats, "I don't expect any retaliation," he only grits his teeth, his smile made in contempt, but looking pleasant, as the other vacates his house.

"Like, Fine," Feliks sighs, when Ivan waits, deliberately, in the doorframe, waiting for a confirmation. That there will be no retaliation. That Feliks will just lie back, as they use him, for their own pleasures.

Because that's what this is.

America's found someone new to play with, and Russia's jealous. He wants in.

As simple as that.

And it became even simpler, when, months before their respective launches were supposed to go down, and America called.

"Like, hello?" Poland answered the phone haughtily, resting the receiver in the crook between his shoulder and neck, as he continued to file his nails. He'd been doing something important, dammit!

"Feliks?" Came the unmistakeable voice of a certain, self-proclaimed hero.

He sighed, heavily, into the phone. "Like, who _else_, would answer the phone at my house, America?"

"I don't know, Lithuania?"

"He doesn't, like, live here anymore." He paused, to contemplate tossing the phone back on its hook, and unplug the cable. Instead, over America's mumbles of, 'Oh, yeah, I forgot', he asked, "Like, what do you _want_?"

"Oh oh right!" Feliks can hear the shuffling of papers in the background, the clink of wire frames meeting a wooden stand, and assumes the American's sitting at his desk, taking a break, and simply calling him because he's bored. This is not the case. "Remember that whole missile deal? It's off. Insufficient funding, or something."

Or you've heard that Russia's doing it, too, Feliks bites back the retort. "Is that, _all_?"

"Yeah. It is."

"Then like, why are we still on the phone?"

"...Because this paperwork is boring, and completely un-awesome."

Another sigh. "Goodbye, America." Feliks doesn't even wait for a response, before putting the phone back down. The click, signaling the end.

Only... not.

It's not long before the phone rings again. Feliks groans. He already knows who it is. "Yeah, Like, what?" He can't keep the annoyance from his voice, that bitter biting edge. Really, he should have unplugged the phone chord after he hung up on America.

He'll do that after this idiot stops talking.

Only.. he won't. Because Lithuania might try to call. And he doesn't want to miss that.

"America called you already?" It's a statement, posed as a question. One of Russia's little tricks. But he's lived near the man long enough now, he knows. Just like he knew it was him, that was calling.

"You like, already know this," He keeps his eyes on the television as he speaks. It's some sort of nature programme. It's boring, but Ivan doesn't deserve his full attention. Not after what he's done.

There's a pause on the other end. Obviously, Ivan's forgotten that they're neighbors, and things travel so much faster when there's no sea to separate them, or he's drunk. Feliks believes it's the second. It would be too much to ask for, for Ivan to forget. "I do." There's another pause, and... is that liquid in a glass container he hears? Ice clinking against the side? So Ivan _is_ drinking.

It doesn't surprise Feliks. "What are you, like, calling for?" He repeats his words from earlier. A bear is scooping up a fish from the river on the television; Feliks feels sorry for the fish. Simply in the wrong area -- where the predators are.

"We're scrapping the plans."

"So no missile launch?" Feliks has to make sure. Make sure that this sudden relief, that finally diverts his attention from the television, to the man on the phone, isn't just a false hope.

"Da. No missile launch."

"Good." Feliks can't keep the contempt out of his voice. Even though he's relieved, he's still annoyed. Someone, ithey/i, were going to pay attention to _him_ for once! And now... they're not. "I don't need either of you over here, trying to kill me."

"Either?" There's that sound again. Accompanied by the sound of liquid flowing from a bottle, tinkling over the ice. A slight swishing sound, and a nearly inaudible sip.

"Yeah. America like, totally pansied out, too," Now that the danger is over, he can afford to be an ass. It's not like the Russian will remember. Feliks figures, after their call, he'll go to that oblivion that makes the bottom of your stairs look like a great place to drop your pants and take a piss; the same oblivion that makes snow look like a warm blanket, or a field full of sunflowers... "Next time you two like, want to have a contest of arms; leave me the fuck out of it."

Silence.

"'Cause I like, totally don't want anything to do with it. Thanks for nothing."

And as he abuses the receiver for the second time that evening, Feliks can't but hope the next call will be much more pleasant. Perhaps, even, from an old friend.


End file.
